


Born Again

by PinkRangerV



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Fix-It, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkRangerV/pseuds/PinkRangerV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a huge wall stopping most of the mutants from getting near here--and, now that cure darts are flying everywhere, stopping them from getting hit, too. There’s a flash of movement in your eye and a rapid warning in your ear that Jimmy--the boy who makes the serum--is away safely.</p><p>Charles is right. There is something wrong.</p><p>But it’s not with you.</p><p>AU of X2-on</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born Again

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to write a paper on X-Men and intersectionality and I wrote this. Halp. (More seriously--the entire X3 movie made me pretty pissed. DID is a thing. Multiple systems are a thing. WE DO NOT GO AROUND BREAKING PEOPLE'S PSYCHES BECAUSE WE THINK IT'S FUN GUYS. Stuff like that. So I wrote a fix-it fic. As far as the first therapist, she's based loosely off a therapist I once had. I had multiple people in my head, and she asked why. It was about as helpful as it sounds.)

Kurt’s arms lock around your body and it is _disappointing_. You struggle without knowing it, trying to fight free, trying to reach the beautiful, sweet, clear water--

 

“ _Jean_!”

 

Scott and Kurt together are too much to escape, a pile of muscle weighing over two hundred pounds. This body feels too frail, too light; something inside of you is bigger, stronger, _fire_ \--

 

And that’s what blocked you.

 

You know like lightning, that’s why Kurt escaped. That’s why you’re cradled in their arms now, Scott crying and swearing he’ll never let you go, Kurt reassuring you in German. You feel the jet lifting, up and up and up, you never want it to stop--

 

_Shhh, sister. Sleep._

 

You drop the jet and it lands with a splash on the water.

 

It can handle a water landing. You all float.

 

You laugh until you cry.

 

***

 

The compulsions feel otherworldly, and you can’t begin to understand them.

 

There, a knife. You could slit your wrists, your throat, stab your heart.

 

There, a sink. You could plug it and fill it with water and stick your head in.

 

There, the medicine cabinet. You could find a few bottles, create a lethal dosage.

 

It’s so strong, these suicidal urges, like the world totally refocuses and you have a single, undeniable mission to kill yourself somehow. But you’re a doctor and you recognize them for what they are--a sign that, for whatever reason, you are developing some kind of mental illness. It’s strange, given your age, but even your psych 101 textbook had examples of people who developed illnesses in middle age, with no apparent trigger.

 

And oh, the memory of Scott blasting at you--the _reason_ a healthy person can walk into danger is because they have other people that love and support them; having that turned on you, that is almost the definition of a trigger.

 

You don’t want to be sick. You hate the idea, so you put off making a therapy appointment. Then one day you wake up from...it felt almost like a daydream, really, and you have the phone giving you a dial tone in your ear and a time and date and number scrawled on a little card.

 

Apparently you’re going to therapy.

 

***

 

“Going somewhere?”

 

It’s a bit of guilt that makes you pause. Normally you would take your concerns straight to Charles. He’s more like a father than your father is.

 

But that’s the thing. He’s a father, not a therapist, or at least not a licensed therapist. He isn’t qualified to diagnose or prescribe medications (and you really hope you can get away with not having those), and you don’t want to dump problems on him that he can’t handle.

 

“I have an appointment.” You consider saying ‘therapy’, explaining...but then the thought of the look in his eyes when you say you’ve felt like killing yourself lately, Alkali Lake was a suicide attempt, but it’s all right, you’ve learned to control the urges...no, that’s not one you want to see.

 

He raises his eyebrow anyway. “So secretive, Jean. A late lunch with Scott?”

 

You smile as you grab your coat. The DNA samples you’ve been looking at, trying to get a read on a child’s very vague mutant power--could be illusions, could be light manipulation, could be both--will wait. You aren’t a bit of good to the students if you don’t take care of yourself. “No, just a doctor’s appointment. It’s all right, it won’t take long.” You lean down to press a kiss to his head, like you always do.

 

“Jean.”

 

The tone, of reproach and worry, startles you and--

 

\-- _someone else opens her eyes_ \--

 

\--you blink. “Yes?”

 

“You could have told me it was a therapy appointment.”

 

_How did he know?_

 

He wasn’t in your mind. You must have projected, or let your shields slip. It startles you, but you’re used to him reading your mind; it never occurs to you to object.

 

 _In her mind. He was_ in my sister’s mind. _What possible right could he have to her_ thoughts _?_

 

You tamp down on the anger--where is that coming from?--and sigh. “I didn’t want to worry you. I haven’t been well lately.”

 

“Jean.” Charles looks more strict than you’ve seen him since...well, probably since the conversations about What We Do Not Use Our Telekinesis For. “How long?”

 

This conversation could take a while. Damn, you don’t want to be late. “Since Alkali Lake.”

 

Charles looks...worried. Not disappointed, almost...frightened. “Jean, I wish you had told me. We can’t have outside therapists working with the X-Men, it’s too dangerous.”

 

_Hate, rage--shut up, jailor, let my sister be._

 

“Dangerous?” You feel a bit hurt--and _fire_ , oh, it sears so wonderfully, waiting for a fight. Oh. _This_ is why the old stories practically sang of battlefields. If _this_ is what it felt like...no. This isn’t a battle, just Charles, worried. “Charles, I’m sure nothing will happen. I just need to talk to someone.”

 

“You can always talk to me.” He takes your hand, offering everything he has.

 

How on Earth do you explain that it’s not enough?

 

“Thank you. I know I can.” You squeeze the hand. “I just...I would feel better talking to a professional. Please. Trust me.”

 

_He won’t trust you, sister. Tell him no. Walk away, now, before you get hurt again._

 

Charles still looks frightened. You wonder if this is the legacy of prejudice--your father in all but blood, terrified of a doctor in case of...who knows what lies he’s been fed, what the world has done to him. “Jean, I forbid it. It’s not just dangerous for you. What if a hate group finds out who you’re talking to? Or Magneto?”

 

_Erik should probably sit down and join us before he comments on needing therapy._

 

You shake your head. “Charles, it’s all right. No one will know. No one even notices when Scott and I go out together, do they? Or when I go to the doctor? Why would they notice now?” Something is terrifying him, and you want more than anything to make it all right. He is your family, and you love him.

 

_Get up, now, and walk away. Don’t you dare miss this appointment for him._

 

“Jean.” Charles gives you a stern look. “This is out of the question.”

 

You’re in over your head and don’t know how you even got off shore to begin with. You don’t understand why he’s so set against this. How can you argue when you don’t know what you’re arguing?

 

Should you even argue? The other part of you is saying get up and go. Maybe you should.

 

But you look at him, and all your needs and wants fade in comparison to your family’s happiness.

 

_A soft hiss of anger, and exasperation._

 

You pat his hand and get up. You go to the DNA samples again, about to say something, but you feel strangely...sleepy…

 

***

 

...Waking up feels like coming from a restful nap, and you realize you’re at a therapist’s office, sitting in the waiting room.

 

You don’t remember coming here.

 

Charles.

 

Panic wells up in you. You have _no idea_ what you’ve just done. Were you cruel to him? What if you hurt someone on the way here? You see your car outside and…

 

...And you realize that half of you feels very satisfied.

 

Something is wrong. You settle back. You need to be here. It’s not what Charles wants, but if your mind is willing to go to these lengths to bring you here, maybe it doesn’t matter what Charles wants. Maybe it’s either this, or more lost time.

 

“Dr. Grey?”

 

You get up and go in.

 

Your other half purrs contentedly.

 

***

 

“So. Drop the DNA sample?”

 

Of course it’s Logan who asks, and of course it’s at dinner. You roll your eyes and take a bite of salad, delicately and pointedly. Shut up and eat, Logan.

 

“Screw up a reading?” Logan barrels on, ignoring Storm’s quiet _Logan!_. “Drop something at practice? Because seriously, this is the most awkward dinner I’ve had since Alkali Lake, and that’s saying something.” Logan glances at Chuck. “So c’mon. What’s got your golden girl in trouble _this_ time?”

 

Is it that obvious Charles is furious at you? No, of course it is. He hasn’t said a word to you all through dinner, even though this is a specially scheduled team meal. The few things he’s said to anyone are short and ill-tempered.

 

Scott, sweet devoted Scott--

 

_You could do better. Logan’s sitting right there, you know._

 

\--glares at Logan. “Drop it, Logan. They can work it out.”

 

“Yeah, having a team with a constant pariah sounds like we’re working everything out just fine.” Logan argues back.

 

_Smart man. (A purr of approval of his body, too.)_

 

Suddenly a compulsion sweeps over you, to pick up the steak knife and slit your wrists. You shove at it, push it aside.

 

Odd. It comes from _you_ , not this other person inside you.

 

“Just a minor disagreement.” Charles says. You can hear the lie in his voice anyway, the anger and tenseness, and wish you knew what you’d said or done before leaving. Maybe nothing. Maybe it’s just that you left in the first place. “Jean and I are more than capable of sorting it out.”

 

Logan snorts. “Awesome.” He pushes his chair back and stands.

 

“Logan, this is team time--” Scott starts, exasperated, because Logan is the definition of a loose cannon and your sweet Scott has just a _bit_ of a control freak in him.

 

“Then get a real team to do it with.” Logan snarks, storming out.

 

You’re not hungry anymore.

 

***

 

“What happened?”

 

“I went to see a therapist.”

 

Scott hesitates, then sighs, his head falling to his hands. “Because of Alkali Lake.”

 

“No! No, not like that.” You know what he’s thinking. Stryker’s drug, the forced battle...You wrap him in your arms, pressing a kiss to his head. “Scott, no. I just...I think I tried to kill myself.”

 

Scott’s head jerks up. “That was…”

 

You sigh. This is the hard part, but you can’t keep secrets, not from him. “Afterwards, I started feeling...like I would notice things. A knife, or the roof, or a bottle of pills. And it was like I couldn’t stop thinking about it. A compulsion.” You kiss his temple again. “I have it under control now. I’m not going to hurt myself. I just need to figure it out.”

 

Scott wraps his arms around you and kisses you, hungry, longing--

 

\-- _now if only Logan would kiss me that way_ \--

 

\--and pulls away, whispering, “Promise me. Promise me you won’t.”

 

“ _I promise._ ”

 

...Those weren’t your words.

 

Scott takes a minute, breathing, and then asks, “What did the therapist say?”

 

“She doesn’t know what’s wrong.” You mentioned blacking out, feeling the second thoughts in your head. She said she’d never heard of anything like that before. “She said that she wanted to see me again and try talk therapy first.”

 

“Why’s the professor angry over that?”

 

“I have no idea.” You sigh and rest your head against Scott’s. “It’s driving me crazy. He gave me some excuse about danger, but I don’t think that was all of it. And then I left when he expressly told me not to.”

 

“What?” Scott sounds completely surprised. Of course he is, it’s totally out of character for you to do something like that. “Why’d you do that?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t even remember doing it.” You shake your head. “One minute I was talking with him and then the next I was in the waiting room. It was like I just...fell asleep.”

 

Scott blinks. “You haven’t done that...other times, have you?”

 

You’re about to say of course not, but then you remember that moment with the missiles. You drifted off then. And then, during the fight with Scott…

 

“I...I think I have.”

 

***

 

The other you comes out when she feels danger.

 

It’s the only solution that makes sense. She’s come out so far in battle and during an argument--she’s a warrior, driven to protect you. To protect... _both_ of you.

 

_A purr of pleased agreement._

 

You wonder, suddenly, if you can talk to--

 

You’re walking over to the kitchen without thinking about it. Water didn’t work, so you’re going to try the knife this time. It’s too strong, like it’s taking over--

 

 _Sleep! Jean,_ sleep, _please!_

 

Yes. You shut your eyes, breathe slowly and relax…

 

***

 

...You wake up with Logan drawing on your wrists.

 

“What just happened?” You ask.

 

Logan looks up, then back down. “You came bargin’ in an’ told me you were thinking of killing yourself. That’s what.” He finishes the drawing of a butterfly. “Something I found online. Don’t wash those off. Leave ‘em there. It’ll help. Somehow.”

 

It’s beautiful, executed in simple pen across both wrists, so when you hold them together they look like a whole. “Thank you.” You shake your head. “I don’t…”

 

“Jean.” Logan meets your eyes. “What the hell.”

 

You have no idea. You whisper it and let your head rest against him as you start shaking. Logan holds you up and lets you cry. You’re terrified and feel helpless and whatever’s going on, you feel like you’re going crazy.

 

Logan is solid and reassuring. You can almost see what your other half sees in him.

 

But it’s not you who loves him.

 

“Okay.” He says. “Okay. You feel like...like someone else is in there with you?”

 

You nod.

 

“And you…” Logan hesitates. “Hey. C’mon.” He’s got a computer in his room, and it’s already booted up. He starts googling.

 

“What are we looking for?” You ask.

 

“Multiple personality disorder.”

 

***

 

Everything makes sense now.

 

You feel like two people are in your body because two people are. You, and...your sister. She feels like a sister, anyway.

 

_Yes, I am._

 

Falling asleep, that was her ‘fronting’, driving your shared body. The impulse to kill yourself...it’s harder, but it takes only a minute before making sense, a knot falling into its component threads.

You weren’t trying to kill _yourself_ ; you were trying to kill _her_.

 

You have no idea why. She’s not going to hurt you. She’s actually been helpful, even if her tact could use some work. The impulse to _stop her!_ settles nonetheless into a constant demand, unknotted into something that at least makes sense.

 

You wonder what her name is. You pull up a list of female names to try out for her, in case she doesn’t have one.

 

She laughs at each one.

 

Logan starts suggesting names after a while. Names from mythology, like Agni or Gedi, then elemental names, like Flame or Red. You roll your eyes at that one. “That’s your nickname for _both_ of us, Logan.”

 

Logan snorts. “Phoenix?”

 

_Yes, love._

 

“...Yes.” You blink. Phoenix.

 

Your sister has a name.

 

***

 

“I read up on dissociative identity disorder.” The therapist says. “I think that’s a good working diagnosis.”

 

You nod. You’ve told her about what you and Logan found. You haven’t told her about Charles refusing to speak to you, or his angry confrontation with you earlier, when he blustered false reason after false reason and demanded to read your mind. Phoenix was furious.

 

“So why do you think you have multiple personalities?” The therapist asks.

 

_...What? How the hell would we know that?_

 

Oh dear. This is going to be a long session.

 

***

 

“Jean, try and--”

 

_I’ve got it._

 

It’s not you who lifts the projected beam in the Danger Room. It’s Phoenix. She loves battle--it’s a rush of adrenaline for her, a subtle thrill of skills displayed, a dangerous game that she excels at.

 

...Hmm.

 

“I’m gonna try something.” You say, and you shut your eyes, relaxing, drifting off…

 

...you yawn as you wake up. You’re in the locker room, and Ororo is blinking at you. “Are you all right?”

 

“Mmm-hmm.” You stretch a little. You feel almost sore, but it’s a good feeling, the feeling of a good workout. “I feel great, actually.”

 

“Phoenix said you’d be tired.”

 

“What?” You almost screech. She said _what_ to them? Was she insane? You hadn’t told _anyone_ \--!

 

“Is your therapy going all right?”

 

You’re going to kill her. You’re going to find a way to drag Phoenix out of your body and murder her. You mutter some excuse to Ororo and head for your lab, grumbling dire threats in your head.

 

 _Sorry_ , Phoenix apologizes, _but it was necessary_.

 

You’re not in the mood to hear it.

 

She leaves it written on your journal anyway.

 

***

 

Charles comes down to the lab. It surprises you. You didn’t expect that he would apologize. Then again, after the idiocy in the Danger Room, maybe he understands now just how important therapy is. Not that you’re going back to that specific therapist--she was useless, and Phoenix hates her--but clearly you two have to establish some ground rules at the very least.

 

“Jean, I have to tell you something.”

 

“Of course, Professor.” Phoenix is smirking and crowing. You try to ignore her.

 

“When you were young…” Charles starts. “Do you remember how much power you had?”

 

You nod. Of course you did. It had faded with time…

 

_...No it didn’t. Wait a minute. I remember now. One morning you woke up, and the world felt dreamlike, unreal, and you could barely do half of what you could._

_...What the hell is going on?_

 

You suppress the shudder.

 

“You were...out of control, Jean.” Charles says, not looking at you. “I...I couldn’t think of anything else...so I locked away your abilities.” Charles looks at you for the first time. “That’s where Phoenix comes from.”

 

Oh.

 

The ‘oh’ resonates through both of you. Phoenix is instantly furious. _Liar, jailor, destroyer!_ She screams. You...sit down. You can’t really do anything else.

 

“I’m sorry. I should have kept a closer eye on your development, but I truly believed you were doing well as you were.” Charles tells you. Phoenix is screaming bloody murder, filling your head with images of his face beneath your nails, as if you could claw his face off in retaliation. You’re just stunned. “I never thought she would emerge by trying to kill you.”

 

“Actually, I tried to kill her.” You say distantly. That clicks, suddenly, and you look up sharply. “Charles. What sort of wards did you have around her?”

 

He frowns. “A strong compulsion against exploring that part of your mind. That’s all. It shouldn’t have led to that.” He edges closer. “If you don’t mind, I think we can begin correcting this problem now.”

 

_No!_

 

“I’m sorry.” You stand. You want to run, to flee, and that’s not Phoenix--she loves fighting--that’s you. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Professor.”

 

Charles frowns. “Without external help, I don’t think you can control her, Jean. She’s very powerful.”

 

 _I am Phoenix! I will burn you to the ground if you so much as think of_ touching _her, little man!_

 

“I think we can handle it.” You snap, stalking away.

 

This time you don’t go to find Logan because Phoenix loves him. You go to find him because you want his claws between you and the Professor, and you don’t even know why.

 

***

 

Phoenix is a powerful warrior, but you’re the skills of this operation. You create a space inside your head, a meeting room, and lay your shared body down before walking into it.

 

Phoenix takes one look at it and transforms it into a lakeside garden.

 

She is a tall, proud woman, with wild flames for hair and an unearthly beauty about her. You look at the garden. Won’t you burn it, you ask her.

 

 _No. I am life-force._ Phoenix tells you--proud, because she is always proud, but also simply stating a fact. _I love growing things._

 

You’d like ‘Ro’s garden, you tell her with a smile.

 

Phoenix smiles back.

 

You find a bench to sit on. Phoenix picks a rock, near the lake. So, you say, words failing you.

 

 _So,_ Phoenix agrees with a smile. _Maybe we’d better start with some ground rules. At least until we can find a mad scientist who can make me a body._

 

Do you want that? You ask, surprised. You hadn’t even thought of it. Although, now that you do, it would be kind of nice to have your body and mind to yourself again…

 

Phoenix shrugs. _I’d like to try it. I’ll try anything once._ She lies down, as casual as if she were alone, to trail her fingers through the water. _Alkali Lake. My birthplace._

 

I’m sorry I tried to kill you, you apologize spontaneously. You _are_ sorry. She’s your sister, and you never should have done that.

 

Phoenix scowls. _That wasn’t you. That was Charles. He put the compulsion to stop me in your head, any way you could._ Her hair gets a bit bluer, the cool colors that mean a flame burns hotter than ever. _I don’t want him near you. He’s rude and arrogant, and he’s going to hurt you again._

 

He’s been like a father to me, you argue back.

 

Phoenix splashes water at you, making you laugh. _Would a father break you in half?_ She asks, not angry--she knows you hate anger--but still insistent. _Would a father make you feel guilty for getting help with a problem? Would a father read your mind at whim? His rudeness is thoughtless, and it makes him dangerous. You can’t say no to him._

 

You can’t disagree with the last. Ground rules, you say, changing the subject. Maybe we should start with Scott and Logan, we’ve got to figure out how we’re handling that.

 

 _This is a ground rule._ Phoneix looks up at you. _Stop letting him in our head. I can’t protect you forever. He’ll hurt us again, and I’ll die._

 

That’s hardly a position you can ignore. Okay, you agree. But we have to talk about the boys, at least.

 

Phoenix grins. _Get rid of Scott, that’d solve our problems._

 

You roll your eyes. Be serious, you scold.

 

Phoenix chuckles. Her laughter is sweet and vibrant, the same pure energy as the rest of her. _All right. Well, you don’t always have to front, you know. Maybe Logan and I could have our own time together._

Is that fair to them? You ask, worried. They can’t see when we change. As far as they know, we’re one woman.

 

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. _I can handle that._

 

Hell no. You tell her flatly.

 

Phoenix laughs. _Worrywart. Let go a little! I’m not incompetent, you know._

 

You’re chaotic! You argue. That stunt in the Danger Room, look at that. I wasn’t going to tell them!

 

 _And you don’t get to make all the decisions._ Phoenix is serious suddenly. _The more people know, the safer both of us are. Charles would’ve tried to kill me if he could. If the others know about me, that’s something. Not much, but it could be the difference between life and death._

You can’t argue that. It sends a chill through you, the idea that you’re alone against the Professor. That he would hurt you.

 

Okay, you tell her. You’re right.

 

Phoenix gets up and goes over to sit with you, hugging you like a sister would, stroking your hair softly. _Promise me you won’t let him in our mind, sister. Promise._

 

You seem to be promising a lot of people a lot of things lately. Still, you promise.

 

 _And as far as the boys go...I have some ideas._ Phoenix says with a wicked grin.

 

You can’t help but smile as you ask to hear it.

 

***

 

You end up with a herd of children.

 

You have absolutely no idea how until you realize word’s gotten out that you’re mentally ill. And then you realize that’s exactly who’s following you around--the ones who have bipolar, schizophrenia, disorders you don’t know the names of and don’t pry to find out. Not so much the kids with PTSD; those children tend to gravitate to Logan. But the other ones seemingly have decided you’re going to be their new favorite teacher.

 

You’re not even a teacher. You’re the doctor. That’s entirely different.

 

They don’t seem to care.

 

You find yourself--and Phoenix, when she wants to chime in--giving advice like ‘here, set your watch so you remember to take your meds’ or ‘don’t worry if your reality is different from other people’s; it’s still just as important as ours’. You see your own disorder reflected in a thousand little mirrors, and you find yourself saying words you never would have thought of before.

 

Phoenix is quicker to join in. She looks up things like _intersectionality_ and _the DSMV_ and _how to cope with DID_ and finds support groups and resources. She talks to the children like a mother, and they love her pride and wisdom.

 

You’re almost jealous until one of your flock comes down with a cold and Phoenix promptly sits back and lets you handle things. It’s nice to be respected.

 

_I’ve been trying to tell you that, sis._

 

You remember Charles’ constant demands to be let in to ‘fix’ you, and the gears start turning. But there’s a small herd of children who need Disney movies and soup, so you leave it for later.

 

***

 

“Jean, they have a cure.”

 

You blink at Ororo. “A cure for what?” Cancer? No, the look on her face is shocked and horrified. Phoenix has been puttering around in a little garden she’s built, but she woke you when she heard Ororo demand to talk to you.

 

“Mutants. The X-Gene. They’re saying they can cure it.” Ororo is babbling, but it wakes you up quickly--a cure? How? Permanent suppression of an entire gene would require multiple points of attack on various systems in the body, and it would result in huge amounts of damage…

 

Ororo drags you inside, your mind still on full speed. Everyone’s glued to the television. You sit next to Charles, asking quietly, “What have they got?”

 

“A serum of some kind. Preliminary testing shows a nearly 100% success rate.” Charles tells you. He’s still not talking to you much, outside of demands to ‘fix’ Phoenix, but he recognizes that you need to know this.

 

The newscaster is yammering about political ramifications, and you can imagine those. Visions of armies of Strykers are dancing through your head, government-led raids forcing mutants to take the cure or die.

 

Rogue charges in. “Is it true? Can they cure us?”

 

 _No,_ Phoenix hisses, _No, child, there is_ nothing _to cure._

 

“No.” Ororo echoes those thoughts, walking over to Rogue. “They can’t _cure_ us. There’s nothing _wrong_ with us.” And she would know--her gifts are almost as strong as yours.

 

Funny, how the Professor never tampered with _her_ mind.

 

It’s a bitter, petty thought, and you leave it alone to wither and die. “There’s a serum that does something to mutants.” You tell Rogue. “I’m not sure what. It’s possibly a cure, but the side effects could be catastrophic. Mutant bodies are designed for our gifts. Taking them away is…” You consider how to tell a hopeful child that, if this works the way you think it does, she’d probably wish she were dead in a few weeks. “Well, I need to look into this.” You stand.

 

Rogue looks at you with eyes nearly tearful, her hopes dashed to pieces.

 

“ _You are not a disease_ ,” Phoenix says, and her voice is lower than yours. Charles flinches. “ _I know it’s hard with your gift, but you aren’t. You’re a miracle, Rogue. Trust me_.”

 

Rogue looks...oddly reassured. You smile at her, and then head down to the lab.

 

Phoenix sighs. _I need my own body. I should be up there with the children right now._

 

So figure out how to get one, you tell her flippantly.

 

She starts actually thinking about it.

 

Oh, hell no--you start, then reconsider. Does being a mad scientist come with good alcohol? I might need some soon.

 

Phoenix chortles.

 

***

 

Worthington Industries is run by the scum of the Earth.

 

Phoenix and the internet have been teaching you how to be kind, be patient, truly care about other people. Watching a father casually mention how he hopes his son can ‘live a normal life’ is enough to disgust you now. No father should speak that way of his son. You offered him a place at the mansion; now you just hope he takes you up on it. Everyone deserves a chance to be free.

 

“Jean.”

 

It’s Charles. You smile. “Hello, Professor.”

 

“Jean, that cure.” He hesitates, then blurts it out: “I think you could get rid of Phoenix with it.”

 

_Asshole._

 

You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “Professor, I have other things to worry about right now.”

 

He wheels in front of you and stops. “Jean, please. I know Phoenix seems tempting now. But listen. She isn’t a safe person--”

 

“ _How dare you_.”

 

It’s Phoenix, and you’re not asleep--you’re along for the ride but she’s in control. “ _The only reason I haven’t killed you myself is because of Jean. For reasons I can’t fathom, she actually gives a shit about you. And you demand she kill me_!”

 

Put like that, Charles...actually sounds like someone you shouldn’t like at all. It’s startling enough so you don’t protest or struggle as Phoenix continues arguing with him. It’s true, too. Charles has made it his mission in life to destroy Phoenix, and he’s never even apologized for creating her in the first place.

 

It just seems so...ugly, somehow. Like seeing a side of him you never wanted to.

 

Charles moves away, and Phoenix hands control back to you, flouncing off in a huff. You don’t even laugh at the teenager-like way she huffs around when she’s annoyed.

 

You just feel...strange.

  
  


***

 

Magneto’s decided to try and kidnap the boy the serum is coming from. You and the other X-Men are going to stop him.

 

You’re actually going to let Phoenix take this one. She’s got more power and more skill than you do. You’re okay with that.

 

You’re settling down to sleep when you feel Charles’ mental presence.

 

It’s not unfamiliar; as a child, you went through a few stages where you were more telepathic than verbal, and Charles’ mental presence was reassuring in a world of strange thoughts and minds. Phoenix bucks and rears away, conditioned to know that touch as something _wrong_ (and you don’t remember that, why can’t you remember the moment of Phoenix’s creation?), and you two end up in a tangle of mental limbs, unable to separate out which is which.

 

The blackbird lands, and Phoenix shoves something at you.

 

You catch it and--

 

***

 

_The world is suddenly much, much sharper._

_You and Phoenix are intertwined, one and the same--you move together off the blackbird, into position as Scott moves you to the front of the attack like always. Magneto ripped up the Golden Gate Bridge; there’s an army of mutants coming for it._

_Brown or black mutants, Asian or native. The ones with visible mutations or tattoos. The ones that don’t even have the advantage of being white and pretty._

_The ones who will be the first to be cured._

_But you can’t let them kill all the people here. Part of you wants to--let the cure die! let the knowledge die with it!--but the rest of you thinks of Rogue, of the innocent boy the serum is coming from, an unwitting pawn in all of this. Let Worthington fall, but not the children. Not the ones who were innocent. For their sake, Magneto and the Brotherhood cannot succeed._

_So you raise the ground into a wall._

_It doesn’t feel like simple telekinesis. It feels like you are the Earth, raising and lifting. It feels like you are the jagged stone, the asphalt rubble._

_This is what he hid from you, Phoenix\you whispers to you\Phoenix. This is why we are angry._

_And oh, you are angry._

_You feel alive. You reach out and slam water into the oncoming mutants--wet, painful, but they’ll all live--and you realize you can actually feel the life coming from them. It’s not telekinesis. It’s something else._

_It’s life itself, surging through your veins._

_You relax into it._

_Around you, your teammates fight; you whirl and kick one, shove another one back, send a third to sleep. You call upon the living land and birthing sea, call upon the life-force in your body and theirs, sing a song of chaos and lifegiving beauty as you weave your dance. It is like nothing you’ve ever felt before._

Jean. Come back to me.

 

_You recognize the Professor’s voice, calling to you. Your blood without blood. You turn your head and almost get hit in the face._

 

Jean! Stop this at once!

 

_I need to fight, you tell him, trying to drop back. But why are you doing this? Why are you obeying him? This is a battlefield, not a place for him to second-guess you. You need to keep your wits about you--_

 

Look at what you’ve done, Jean! For Gods’ sake, this has gone far enough!

 

_You look._

_There’s a huge wall stopping most of the mutants from getting near here--and, now that cure darts are flying everywhere, stopping them from getting hit, too. There’s a flash of movement in your eye and a rapid warning in your ear that Jimmy--the boy who makes the serum--is away safely._

_Charles is right. There is something wrong._

_But it’s not with you._

_“Scott, stand down.”_

_“What is it?” Scott signals to the others to disengage. There isn’t much to disengage from. Most of the Brotherhood is hiding now._

_“We’ve got the boy safe. But look at Worthington’s security team. They’re using the cure darts, even though we said we wouldn’t fight alongside them if they did.” You reach out to Scott, putting a hand on his arm. “Let the Brotherhood have them. They’re right to be afraid. And they’re right to be angry.”_

_“I’m with Jeannie.” Logan offers. “These assholes wanna keep throwing cure darts around, let ‘em deal with the consequences.”_

_“But they’re mutants.” Scott argues. There’s a hint of unsureness in his voice, of not knowing if he should be arguing this or not. “They’re more powerful than humans. They shouldn’t be destroying things just because they’re afraid.”_

_“Last I checked, Scott,” Ororo points out, “They can just call the police.”_

_Scott understands then, and nods. “Let’s go.”_

_You feel Charles desparing as you leave._

_It’s never felt more like victory._

 

***

 

“Well then.”

 

You’re in therapy again. You didn’t discuss it with Charles. You didn’t hide it either. You’ve decided it’s time to move out, too. The reasons are mostly the same.

 

“Sounds like you’ve had a wild time.” The therapist leans back. “Well, Dr. Grey, I can offer several options. Most of them depend on you, though. If you and your sister want, you can unite with each other. If not, that’s fine. I’ve had patients who have chosen either one.”

 

 _I’m alive either way._ Phoenix muses. _I’d rather be healthy._

 

“I think...we’d like to just see where things go.” You verbalize.

 

The therapist nods. “Okay. We can work with that.”

 

 


End file.
